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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26353636">Cafe Americano?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ankesenpaaten/pseuds/ankesenpaaten'>ankesenpaaten</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gloria Woo [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Noblesse (Manhwa)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1960s, F/M, oc fic, period fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:06:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,069</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26353636</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ankesenpaaten/pseuds/ankesenpaaten</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It is 1963; Woo Suyeong is working at a teahouse near the American base in Yongsan. Yongsan is a scummy part of town, so she meets drug lords, Communist spies, and foreigners with dubious intentions on a daily basis. The snobby blond foreigner that comes in seems like all three.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gloria Woo [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1914997</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The year was 1963; the month was June; the date was the 24th. Park Chunghee had overthrown the government of Syngman Lee through a military coup and installed himself as dictator. </p><p>(Not officially, of course; <em> officially </em>, he was the Chairman of the Supreme Council for National Reconstruction.)</p><p>He promised economic prosperity and a living standard equal to Western countries; equal to the Beautiful Country, the United States. "We will claw our way out of poverty and humiliation with our bare hands just like Japan," he had promised that year.</p><p>Suyeong wasn't so sure. Korea wouldn't be in the situation it was currently in if Japan had not colonized, imprisoned, raped, robbed, murdered, and tried to extinguish Korean culture and identity while simultaneously bleeding the country dry. </p><p>Park Chunghee spoke frequently about how "nationalism makes a prosperous country," but stealing children to send to Japanese families, selling young children into sexual slavery, and forcing Koreans to change their names to be "more Japanese" wasn't <em> Korean </em> nationalism, it was <em> Japanese </em> nationalism. </p><p>Exactly the kind of rhetoric one would expect of a graduate of the Japanese Imperial Military Academy. Park Chunghee wanted them to get on their knees and worship Japan for the extreme <em> kindness </em> and <em> generosity </em> they had shown in agreeing to the Korea-Japan trade deal a few months prior; what it was was essentially a bribe for Korea to keep its mouth shut about Japanese war crimes. </p><p>And Park Chunghee, the nation's protector, sold them right back into the hands of their jailers. Suyeong was furious.</p><p>Of course, there was not much she could do. She needed to stay out of trouble to earn her college degree and get a job as an English teacher; if she was arrested by the KCIA for treason, it would not look good on a resume. Spending years being tortured in a work camp didn't seem very appealing either, nor would leaving the country, but what were the chances they would track down one lone Korean who was an English teacher somewhere like Vietnam, or taught art to preschoolers in Paris? Perhaps she could ask the KCIA agent when they came to kidnap her. </p><p>Reading the Chosun Ilbo that morning, the headline: "<em> A Strong Cabinet is Necessary; 5th President Park Chunghee </em>" made her nauseous. </p><p>“개새끼,” she grumbled under her breath. <em> Son of a bitch.  </em></p><p>“You read too much about politics,” her boss yelled at her from across the room, “Men don’t like that in a wife.”</p><p>"I don't like stupidity in a husband either."</p><p>“Yah, what a pretty mouth our Suyeong has. A nice girl like you shouldn’t become old and shriveled like dried fish.”</p><p>“Dried fish? You should be careful who you talk to like this, Lee sajangnim. They might make you into dried fish."</p><p>"Ah, those thugs don't scare me," he boasted. </p><p>"Or, you might get arrested by some American soldier for insulting his new Korean girlfriend …'sexual discrimination' is still illegal under the new constitution."</p><p>Her boss grumbled about how Korean society was turning into an immoral Sodom and Gomora, no filial piety, no sense of community, no sense of right and wrong, women and children did not respect their husbands and fathers anymore, women were marrying loud mouthed big nosed foreigners, it was the end of Korean society, a society which had stood proud for three thousand years since the god Hwanung impregnated his bear wife and gave birth to the first Emperor of Joseon, Tanggun. Emperor Gojung had ruined the country by being such a weak ruler and allowing the barbarians in, so on, so forth.</p><p>Before Suyeong had to endure the same rant (one she had memorized), the door chimed as it swung open. </p><p>Being near the American base, they received a lot of foreigners as customers; her boss had even cut a deal where he supplied all of the base’s teas. (Mostly herbal and Chinese teas; Barley tea was not very popular. Suyeong didn’t know why; it smelled, tasted, and looked very similar to coffee. They both were disgustingly bitter.) </p><p>He had been trying to swing his tea contract into a coffee contract as well, but for such a large base, they already had numerous importers of coffee beans. It wasn’t working too well, but Mr. Lee was nothing but determined; he would charm his way up to a coffee bean contract eventually.</p><p>He and the American quartermaster were becoming good friends: they got drunk on Maekju and played games like yut; some nights they screamed the lyrics to popular American songs, like <em> Be My Little Baby </em> by the Ronettes, <em> LOVE </em> by Nat King Cole, (“he is black man!” her boss would say very excitedly. “I love black man!” “Black <em> men </em> ,” his friend would correct) and Frank Sinatra’s <em> Fly Me To the Moon </em>at the noraebang (“the moon, you see the moon? There, there rabbit lives. No “man on moon,” only rabbit.”) They would be there until sunrise, sleep off the hangover, and then be right back to work by noon like all the other office workers and modern professionals of Seoul. </p><p>It was thus imparted on her that she must treat American soldiers as if they were her grandmother; with the utmost politeness and subservience. She should <em> worship </em> the customer. </p><p>Suyeong did not in fact, worship the customer. Not if they were a foreigner, not if they were Korean, not if King Sejong Daewang himself walked in the door. (She would, however, have questions. How did he arrive in 20th century Seoul? What did he think about modern technology? Considering his reputation for being fascinated with new technology and science, she thought he would love the twentieth century, at least initially. Then he might feel homesick and lost, because in modernity, kings were a product of the long ago past. They appeared in school books and children’s stories. Not outside Gyeongbok Palace in 1963 Seoul. But she digressed.) </p><p>Like most workers who dealt regularly with the public, she was very good at pretending like she worshipped the ground they walked on. If a customer complained to her boss about her behavior, they would have no evidence to back up their claim. She was nothing but ineffably polite and respectful to them and they knew it. </p><p>(It was also much easier to be rude in English, considering that despite her degree, she was not very good at it.) </p><p>The man who walked in was an American  soldier in uniform, dark skinned, tall, average looking. Nothing particularly special to Suyeong, who saw foreigners and black people almost daily. (Her grandmother in Jeonju however, would be enthralled.)</p><p>"안녕하십니까 가방다방 있습니다. 어떻게 도와드릴까요?” <em> Hello, welcome to Kabang Dabang, how may I help you? </em></p><p>The man walked up to the counter, fumbling in his attempt to speak Korean. </p><p>“Annyeonghaseyo. Hana coffee juseyo. Dark with lots of sugar. Uhhh, seultang manhi. Juseyo.” <em> One coffee please. Sugar lots. Please.  </em></p><p>"어떤 커피 마실래요?” <em> What kind of coffee would you like to drink? </em></p><p>“Uhh….coffee. Americano. Coffee americano.”</p><p>“아메리카노? 아이스, 덮은?” <em> Americano? Iced or hot? </em></p><p>“Uhh... iced. Gyeoul kateun. Chuwoyo.“ <em> Like winter. Cold. </em></p><p>“알겠습니다, 한번 커피 아메리카노 과 많은 설탕 있습니다. 여둔 원 주세요.” <em> All right, one coffee Americano with lots of sugar. Eighty won please.  </em></p><p>“Yeo….dun?” the soldier repeated, obviously confused. He made a writing motion with his hand, “Juseyo.” </p><p>Suyeon wrote it down in Arabic numerals on her notepad before showing it to him. He nodded, and handed her eighty won, “Gamsahabnida.” </p><p>“네, 손님 감사합니다. 안녕히계세요!” <em> Thank you, have a nice day!  </em></p><p>As the customer left with his drink, Suyeong changed the station on the radio; KBS Radio’s <em> 동백아가씨 </em> was exchanged for the USFK Radio’s <em> Burning Love </em>from Elvis Presley’s 1958 album.</p><p>
  <em> Just a hunk a hunk of burnin love, just a hunk a hunk of burnin love... </em>
</p><p>Suyeong remembered a television show she and her family had seen at the US Army base during one of its "community outreach" nights; it was Elvis performing on a talk show moving his hips and legs like "they were made of konjac jelly", as her father said. But the song was different, what was the song? Something about dogs? American music truly was vulgar.</p><p>"<em> You are not anything but a doggy dog </em>," she sang as she tried to remember the lyrics. But that didn't sound right….next time, she would ask that American if he knew what the song was. </p><p>"Suyeong ah!" Her boss yelled from the back office.</p><p>"What!" </p><p>"Stop fooling around and come help me with the finances!" </p><p>"Doggy dog," she muttered under her breath.</p><p>"What did you say?”</p><p>"Nothing, I'll be coming!" </p><p>—-</p><p>Richard “Dick” Wilmington had been stationed at the Kumo-ri Maintenance Center for six months so far; it was 1963, John F Kennedy was President, they were in the middle of a space race with the Soviets, the world had almost ended through a nuclear showdown (for the fifth or sixth time that month, he reckoned) and he had decided to enlist in the army to escape the racial violence and discrimination of living as a black man in the bog lands of rural Lousiana. </p><p>So far, he had not regretted his decision; the army treated everyone just as bad, and if he was looked at twice or given weird looks by locals, it was because he was a foreigner, not because he was black. </p><p>The locals though, were very interested by him having dark skin. When he first arrived, he was poked and prodded at on a daily basis, asked if he was dirty and needed a bath, and a little girl thought he was made of chocolate (Americans gave out chocolate bars, so American —&gt; chocolate, brown American man —-&gt; chocolate man) and asked if he tasted sweet. Much better than being called a n*****, being sneered at by upper class white women, or being told to “learn your place or else, boy” and that "we don't serve your kind here" by fat as fuck middle aged men with receding hairlines and beer bellies. </p><p>He had a weekend pass after a particularly grueling field exercise that had lasted the entire week; they were sent up the river to Gimpo to "practice" their response to a North Korea invasion like the one that started the war back in '50. Intelligence told them that Kim Il Sung had been itching to do it again ever since, constantly plotting and planning, issuing threats, fake news reports; the whole nine yards.</p><p>(He paid attention during unit briefings; he did his research. Dick Wilmington was here and risking getting his ass shot at on a daily basis so you could bet your ass he would do his job and do it right, and if doing proper reconnaissance on the enemy would save his sorry ass from getting a bullet between the eyes then he would crack down and do his damn research. He wasn't a scrub. Would never make officer or work in intelligence because of his skin, but as his grandmother said, it be’s like that sometimes.)</p><p>He decided to hitch a ride into town, go to a coffee shop, knock some time off at the recreational center at Main Headquarters. Maybe beat the shit out of some whitey for shittalking and having a big mouth; then they could go out for drinks after.</p><p>Most signs and stores in Seoul weren't written in English, so going into town was always a fun exercise to practice his reading and speaking abilities. Not exactly the most common hobby for an O3 rank civilian engineer, (or, for any drafted recruit or military man) but as his momma and grandmother had told him many times growing up, “from the second you were born as a black male in America, you were at a disadvantage. You need to take whatever edge you can get.” </p><p>The first time he had come out to Seoul, he was looking for signs that said cafe in Hangul—카페; but as he learned, cafe was only used among the youth. Dabang was used instead; 다방. </p><p>He had learned all this from the Korean liaison officer that accompanied every US base in Korea; Kumo ri’s was a man named Lee Seungwoo. Nice guy, Dick thought. They would trade American and Korean snacks and get drunk on maekju or beer (soju if they could get their hands on it) and throw darts at pictures of whoever pissed them off that week. Last week it was Private McConnell who got a good round of trashing from him and the rest of the company for calling Koreans “slant eye guks”. </p><p>The Army didn’t particularly care either way about eliminating racism, but his company did; they were good people, his company. They bonded together and trusted and respected each other; Officer Lee was an essential part of the unit: he handled all contact and communication with the local villagers and local governments, with higher ups like President Park, and with the local merchants when the base needed to buy supplies inland. Seungwoo had told him that Mrs Park (the base’s main coffee importer) played a wicked game of Godori (illegally, of course) and he had, once, lost all the base's spending money on her bets and was forced to play with her until he won it back. "That was long night," he had said that night when they were two beers in each. "She stays up that long man? Don't old ladies have to sleep more?" "Not in Korea. In Korea, we stay up all night and go to work next morning, nine am."</p><p>He wasn’t completely comfortable reading Hangul yet, but he could recognize their general shape and sound out the letters, like a little kid learning to read the alphabet, he thought wryly. Scanning the business fronts (stores stacked on stores every way: up, down, left, right, attic, basement) he stopped whenever he saw a ㄷ. 다방 다방 다방, he repeated in his head. 가방다방 he read on one of the sides, the red paint faded and worn. </p><p>“K...ah..ka...buh…ah.. ba...ng...bang. Kabang. D… da...buh...ah...bang. Kabang dabang,” he read out loud to himself, feeling proud. “Don’t know what a kabang is,” he muttered, “but a dabang’s what I’m looking for, so a dabang it is.” </p><p>He walked through the door, the chime going ding a ling ling. Already, as soon as he walked in up to the counter, the woman started shooting off rapid fire Korean. He didn’t have any time to read the menu, could barely read it, so he decided to start small. Simple. In English words that could be easily understood in Korean. </p><p>“Annyeonghaseyo... Hana coffee juseyo….Dark with lots of sugar,” shit, what the fuck was the word for sugar? Think think think, seul… sulfur, no, seul.. tang, Tang has only sugar in it, so sugar is seultang. “Uhhh, seultang manhi!” </p><p>“어떤 커피 마실래요?” she said (seemed even faster this time), writing the order down on a notepad. Uhh, Jesus.</p><p>(If his grandmother was here, he was sure she would forgive his taking the lord's name in vain. He was doing the lord's work out here, risking his ass over some political squabble and civil war that a bum country boy from backwater Louisiana had no business meddling in.) </p><p>Okay, focus. He definitely heard coffee. She was staring at him, waiting, so he said the first drink that they would have overseas that came to his mind; it was, embarrassingly, an Americano. An American ordering an Americano. How embarrassingly stereotypical. </p><p>“Coffee...coffee americano.” </p><p>“아메리카노? 아이스, 덮은?”</p><p>Ice, he heard ice. She was asking if he wanted his coffee hot or cold; considering it was the middle of June in a country that was hotter than the six shades of hell, he would be ordering cold. </p><p>“Iced. Cold,” What was the word for cold ugh, cold cold cold cold cold, gae? Gye? Oh, winter in the army is so gay, gyeoul. “Gyeoul kateun. Chu..chuwoyo.” </p><p>“알겠습니다, 한번 커피 아메리카노 과 많은 설탕 있습니다. 80 원 주세요.”</p><p>Goddamnit, numbers. He forgot about numbers. Fuck. He could only count up to ten, and he had a feeling this was not a price under ten won; so he asked her to write it down, but he didn’t know the word for write, so he mimed it. Most important thing in communication was actually communicating in any way you could; if hand signs worked, hand signs worked. There was a reason deaf people used it, right?</p><p>As he paid his bill, he took a look around the shop’s decor; the walls were beige, with traditional Korean style artwork and hanja calligraphy framed on the walls. The lighting was warm, the seats were made of bare wood, the ceiling rafters were exposed, and some bricks on the wall were left uncovered. It was a very cozy atmosphere, despite its haphazard messiness. But it was a mess that worked together. He liked it here; it was very peaceful.</p><p>Peace was something you did not get any of living in a barrack with hundreds of other men. He would come back here when he needed quiet to hear himself think, he thought as he headed out the door. He would people watch for a bit on the steps, then head over to HQ and see what was going on there. It was movie night; an advanced screening of <em> King Kong vs Godzilla </em>was being shown. The film had only been released in the states the day before, so this was a very special date on the GI social calendar. </p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A strange customer comes to the tea house. Suyeong investigates.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ragar is undercover as a spy for a mission, and Suyeong misinterpreted him saying “his partner” to mean husband, but if it works for his cover  he isn’t gonna correct her </p><p>No Dick Wilmington in this chapter but Suyeong and her boss, mentions of Mrs park the rival coffee importer who is a genius gambler who scams the entire neighborhood through her godori games, the camp quartermaster i haven’t named yet and mentions of a few new cast of regulars for the cafe : ) and of course a mysterious stranger</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a customer who came in a few times a week: sometimes, in the afternoon around 3 or 4; sometimes, for an after dinner tea; and sometimes, right when Suyeong was closing up for the day, ready to go home, feed her cat, eat dinner with her family, and prepare her coursework for the next day of classes. </p><p>She always kept to herself, always wore a veil, and always drank her tea as she stared out the windows, watching the traffic. </p><p>A few times, bored out of her mind, Suyeong had attempted to strike up conversation with her, but it always fizzled out quickly. Her answers were...weird. </p><p>Today was one of those times. Barely anyone had been in all day, except for the few regulars: Mrs Park and Mrs Lee in for their weekly teatime; Mrs Lim, with her Russian Literature club; and Mr Park, who had come to read the newspaper and “discuss” politics with her boss. </p><p>"It doesn't seem like you're Korean....possibly, are you a foreigner?"</p><p>The lady looked up at Suyeong from over the rim of her teacup.  "You are right," she answered, "I am not Korean. I come from far away."</p><p>"You speak Korean very well though... Is your husband Korean?"</p><p>"No, we are not married. I do not think he is Korean, however. We are here to deal with official government business."</p><p><em> Official government business? </em> Suyeong's ears perked up. Mysterious foreigners here on "official government business"? Most foreigners that came to Korea were business workers; <em> government business </em>  could mean: they were Americans, they were Japanese (unlikely), or they were Northern spies. They couldn't be Chinese;  for the first time since Ghenghis Khan, after all, Chinese government representatives were not welcome in Seoul. Suyeong began to fish for more information. </p><p>"Oh, are you Americans? Or…." <em> Are you a spy? </em> was her unspoken question. </p><p>"We are not Americans, but we have been to America, and it is very nice. I like New York City. Recently, we were in China for a few months on a different mission."</p><p>"Oh, I <em> see… </em>” Suyeong said, with wide eyes. That crossed off another option: they weren't American. She began to rewrite what she knew of the "White Lady": a foreigner who spoke perfect Korean, whose husband worked in the government, was not American, had recently returned from China on a "business trip".... it could only be one thing. It was espionage. They were Northern spies. </p><p>Well, she supposed, they could be <em> Russian </em> spies. Seoul had been full of spies since the war ended. </p><p>Well, for a woman who <em> (potentially) </em> was a Northern spy, she was very nice. Suyeong would have to be cautious of any ( <em> potential </em> ) Northern assassination plots, or invasion plans. She couldn’t let the woman realize she knew her ( <em> potential) </em> secret; she had heard stories of Northern agents abducting people who caught them in flagrante delicto. </p><p>“Do you like barley tea, Mrs…?”</p><p>“Kertia. Yes, I love barley tea. Yours is the best in the city.”</p><p>“Oh, my! My boss will be very happy to hear that. He’s been trying to get the Americans to buy his barley tea, you see, but they don’t like it because it’s too bitter. Our blend is formulated based on the tea he drank in his youth in Kaesong. Would you perhaps like to take some with you and give to friends?”</p><p>Mrs Kertia took the bag with a very delicate, finely manicured hand, before bowing her head. “Thank you very much for your hospitality. You have been very gracious,” she stated as she rose from her seat.</p><p>“Not at all! You are very kind to compliment our humble tea house, and we hope you will return.” </p><p>Mrs Kertia bowed her head again, before replying. "I must return to work with my ..partner now. I will return shortly to enjoy the service here again." </p><p>"Of course! Please come again!" </p><p> Suyeong watched The Lady as she left the teahouse,  and until she walked down the street, out of sight. </p><p>She wiped down some tables, replaced utensils, and went back to her pulp fiction novel about a monster made out of toxic slime who consumes people. It was supposed to be a metaphor for communism, but Suyeong thought it was more of an environmental activism novel. The pursuit of nuclear weapons and toxic chemicals will destroy the world, etc. etc.</p><p>The front door banged open as her boss returned from a dinner with the base's quartermaster, looking dejected.</p><p>"How was the meeting?" She asked curiously. </p><p>Her boss grumbled as he kicked off his shoes. </p><p>"Bad?"</p><p>"Like pouring water into a bottomless pit!"</p><p>"This time, what happened?"</p><p>"Mrs Park was there. She suggested we play godori. You know how she plays, it was like there was not ddeok left--"</p><p>"She wiped you out, is that it?"</p><p>"She bet the vending rights for the camp's coffee supply. Her smug face when she realized she won was so hateful. Aigooo, that woman! One day, someone will wipe her out and it will be a bitter pill to pay—“ </p><p>"We had an interesting customer today. Foreigner,” Suyeong said, cutting off her boss before it could develop into a diatribe. Yelling was not good for his blood pressure, and she did not want to see the huge vein that bulged from his head when he was angry. (Its name was Peter, after the Saint.)</p><p>"Humph."</p><p>"Said she works at the American base on a secret governmental mission."</p><p>"Humph."</p><p>"Really liked our barley tea, so I gave her some samples of our special coffee blends for her to share.”</p><p>"..."</p><p>"With her other American friends, at the American base, with the other Americans, who drink American coffee."</p><p>"...Suyeong, who is his customer?"</p><p>"She comes in a few times a week and wears white, head to toe. White veil, white hanbok, white shoes, white everything."</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>"Her husband also works for the government."</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>"They just returned from China on a six month mission."</p><p>"I'm listening."</p><p>"Think they're spies?"</p><p>"Suyeong ah."</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>"Who cares if they're spies if they will help us get our coffee into the American base! Is your head stuffed with ddeok?"</p><p>"Why don't you say that louder so the government censors can hear you?"</p><p>"Park Chung hee should support me! You know, Suyeong, his mission is to revitalize Korean economy! The business of Koreans is the business of Korea!"</p><p>"I will write you in exile.Your name should be Lee Sang Soon and you should move to Buenos Aires with all the other escaped criminals."</p><p>"Bah, what do you know? Young people these days know nothing! They are so disrespectful and fresh. They know nothing about the world! I'll show you, Suyeong ah, I'll show you."</p><p>"I heard nothing. I am a poor college student whose meaning in life is to support our great President, the Great Ruler Park Chung hee. Mansae."</p><p>
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